


Hazard Trigger

by Rainbowfootsteps



Category: Kamen Rider Build
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24752854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbowfootsteps/pseuds/Rainbowfootsteps
Summary: haha what if we were both kamen riders and you were traumatised by accidentally murdering someone and I tried to give you emotional reassurance.... just kidding.... unless?
Relationships: Banjou Ryuuga/Kiryuu Sento
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Hazard Trigger

“Dinner’s ready.” 

The plate is carefully embroidered with pasta, a small portion that seems to shy away from the edges. Banjou slowly continues down the spiral staircase. He knows what he’ll see at the bottom. That’s why he takes his time, his free hand thrusted into his jacket pocket with false nonchalance. The bruise on the side of his mouth still hasn’t healed. He doesn’t care – he’s used to taking hits – but it stings when he talks, and constantly reminds him of the… situation.

Sacrosant absence is interrupted by Banjou’s presence. The moment he reaches the bottom of the staircase, the spell is broken like a bubble’s stretched surface. Sento remains silent.

Lunch sits on the kitchen bench. An egg and ham sandwich atop chipped ceramic. Banjou places dinner next to it on cold linoleum. 

He’s been purposefully avoiding looking at the rest of the room. The problem with delaying the inevitable is that it’s still inevitable.

He turns. 

A newton’s cradle clicks back and forth steadily. Sento’s eyes stare at a forgotten middle ground. He sits on the floor, head rested against the wall as if his neck has lost the ability to support his weight. Like Banjou, his face still sports the badges of war. A crimson scrape across his cheek matches perversely with his rider armour. Two tiny cuts above his left eyebrow, cleaned by Sawa time and time again, refuse to close.

“You’d better start eating again. If I get tougher than you, you’ll have to be my sidekick.” Banjou nods to the benchtop. Sento’s eyes slowly travel to stare at the floor.

Fuck. Banjou hates this silence. He should know what to say! Why the fuck can’t he find the right words to drag Sento out of his own morbid torture? Some partner he is. Anger is Banjou’s answer, and it materialises without fail. Anger at himself. Anger at Sento. Anger at Kamen Rider Grease, anger at the plate of cooling pasta mocking Sento’s silent vigil. He wants to lash out at something, but nothing his fist could connect with would fix this.

He puts his back to the wall, slides down to the floor. Faces Sento. Kicks his long legs out and buries his hands in his pockets. He scrutinises Sento’s face. Sento, in return, looks resolutely at nothing in particular. 

There’s a strange comfort in exploring the facial features of someone you know well. After a certain amount of time, you stop seeing their face. You just see who they are. Stopping to look at Sento, acknowledging his expressive mouth, the way his eyes narrow when he’s angry – it’s not really the Sento he’s accustomed to.

A sudden urge grips him. The kind that makes your heart strain. He wants to reach over and feel the warmth of Sento’s hand. Remind him, it wasn’t your fault. Confused pain is twisting Banjou’s heart relentlessly. Anger swells, subsides. He doesn’t know what replaces it. Something. A horrible, hollow longing. He prefers anger.

“Sawa’s getting groceries later.” He mumbles. “I’ll ask her to get some eggs. Make you some omelettes tomorrow or something.”

The silence stretches. Banjou stays. He’s useless. But he can stay. He’ll always stay.


End file.
